Free Falling
by BryteTwilight
Summary: **COMPLETE** Takes place in 1st year. Hermione’s been upset ever since she came to Hogwarts. When she decides it’s over, who’s left to help? PG-13 for suicidal themes and a bit of language. R&R please!


Title: Free Fallin'  
  
Author: BryteTwilight  
  
Rating: PG-13 for suicidal themes and a bit of mild language.  
  
Summary: Hermione's been upset ever since she came to Hogwarts. When she decides it's over, who's left to help?  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, Hermione, Ron, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, or any of the others. If I did, I wouldn't have killed off **sniff** in the fifth book =(.  
  
Author's Note: For all you sick professor/student fans out there, this is NOT slash! =P I feel really stupid saying that, lol, but I didn't want any incorrect interpretations. My first HP fic.  
  
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"Okay, so, Charms is over," Hermione muttered to herself, checking her schedule between classes. The corridor ended and spread open into the courtyard. It was only October, but a fresh sheet of snow glistened on the ground. Hermione frowned slightly, glancing about at the crowd and realizing that the sparkling glaze would soon be trodden.  
  
Students loitered among the benches, relaxing. Hermione, however, strolled across the brick walkway with great urgency, not because she was eager to get to Potions, but because maybe if she were early, she would not be scolded today.  
  
Scolded.  
  
Wrong. Troublesome.  
  
She hated being wrong, and even more so being troublesome.  
  
You won't be a problem today if you hurry, don't worry, she told herself.  
  
"She's so conceited," Hermione broke free of her own thoughts and looked around, hearing Ron Weasley's voice ahead of her. He shook his head towards his companion, a smaller boy with unruly hair. Ron, and Harry! They were going to potions too, maybe they'd let her walk with them. . .  
  
She lagged behind, however, wanting to hear more of their conversation. "I mean, really," Ron had continued. "That Hermione, it's no wonder no one can stand her, she's a nightmare, honestly."  
  
Hermione froze in her tracks. She felt as if the snow on the ground had suddenly entered the pit of her stomach.  
  
Was what they thought of her? She was a nightmare, honestly?  
  
She WAS a nightmare, she thought, from her bushy hair to her overly large teeth, from her introverted social personality to the loud, intelligent classroom paradox. . .but was that what they thought, too?  
  
They're right, spoke a whisper, protruding her thoughts. Just go, don't mind them, another voice murmured. Her body, however, would not cooperate, as tears welled in her eyes. She walked forward, hastily brushing her hand against her cheek, but the water had frozen. Another white-hot drop streaked her face and she rushed ahead, bumping into someone but not stopping to apologize. Just get somewhere, anywhere.to the bathroom. Get away.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The restroom was empty when Hermione rushed in. She dropped her books on top of the towel rack and sprinted into a stall, locking it behind her. Slipping down the metal wall, she curled up and leaned against the metal wall, allowing the tears to flow freely, yet silently. She could cry in privacy, but no where else.  
  
She hugged her knees to her chest.  
  
Ron and Harry were the only people she had thought would ever befriend her, but now, were they gone too?  
  
The bathroom door opened, and then shut. An empty stall clanked.  
  
Memories flooded back, edging their way through the crevices of her mind she had tried so had to fill.  
  
Loneliness, being an only child. Loneliness, throughout school, for being too smart, too ugly, too boring, too. . .she didn't even know anymore. Whatever. It didn't matter.  
  
And now here, loneliness, in a place where she could escape, where she belonged, for she was no longer the only witch, she was no longer the only strange one, where she was not the only one who had felt abandoned and lost and betrayed.  
  
They didn't like her, she decided. But, how could she blame them, when she didn't even like herself?  
  
The other stall opened again, and footsteps echoed towards the sink. The old faucet squeaked as water rushed through it.  
  
Why didn't she like herself? Why did she wince every time she looked in a mirror, why did she force herself to be alone, separate, isolated? And the one thing she took pride in, her good schoolwork-well, now, that was one of the reasons Ron hated her, was it not?  
  
Oh, don't be a prat, he never said he hated you.  
  
He never said he didn't.  
  
A sob escaped Hermione's throat.  
  
The faucet turned off. "Hello?" A voiced called, bouncing off the old stone walls. "Who's there, what's wrong?"  
  
Hermione sighed hearing Parvati's voice, and banged her head slightly against the metal wall of the stall. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid, how could you let yourself do that?!  
  
"Hello?" Parvati repeated, sounding worried.  
  
Hermione sighed again. "It's me, Parv. . .I'm okay, forget it."  
  
The footsteps traveled from the sink to right outside the door. "Hermione? You're not okay, I know you aren't, what's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing's wrong, leave me alone," Hermione snapped, immediately feeling guilty for it at the tone of the response.  
  
"Um.okay, if you're sure.sorry to bother you, I've got to go. . .Transfiguration. . . see you later." Parvati hurried out of the room.  
  
Hermione peeked between the crack in the door to make sure she was gone, and then sat back down. Why hadn't she said anything? She could have told Parvati, maybe she would have helped. . .  
  
But, Hermione decided, she did not want any help. That would make her happy. . .and she did not deserve to be happy, did she?  
  
But oh, what she would give to be happy, just for once. True happiness, not that. . .fleeting illusion she got, from answering a question correctly, from having a short conversation with someone. But what would make her happy? Not to bug anyone, perhaps? Not to hurt anyone?  
  
How would she do that?  
  
Hermione drew in a gasp as a grin spread across her face in revelation. The thought had never entered her mind before, never, but here was the perfect solution, and although she would gain her unjustified happiness, others would better benefit.  
  
Suicide?  
  
When?  
  
As soon as possible.  
  
How?  
  
She mused over this one for a bit. The Astronomy tower was high up. . .  
  
The who's, what's, and why's weren't necessary questions, as Hermione stood up.  
  
Wouldn't it be better to plan? Her logical side argued.  
  
That would make me happy. No planning.  
  
She dashed out of the stall, smoothing her skirt, and listened for the crowd in the corridor to disperse. Once it was clear, she glanced once more in the mirror, and turned to leave.  
  
Just as she reached for the knob, the door flew open. Professor McGonagall stared sternly down at her.  
  
Hermione gasped. Had she missed Transfiguration, too, as well as Potions? Oh, she would be in so much trouble. . .  
  
"Professor! I-I didn't mean to miss class, I thought-I'm so sorry-it won't- "  
  
She was cut off by McGonagall's stern voice. "Miss Granger! While I was taking attendance, and you did not respond for the first time this YEAR, Miss Patil ever so kindly reported to me where you were. I never-NEVER- would have thought that YOU-"  
  
Hermione hung her head, not only in shame, but in an attempt to wipe her eyes clear before seen. She found she did not succeed, however, when her professor's words came to a halt and she continued in a gentler, and much concerned, voice. "Oh, my-dear, what's wrong?!"  
  
Things she would never have the courage to say aloud, especially in front of a teacher, found themselves on the tip of her tongue. She held back, and instead pulled what she had with Parvati, except in a much more respectful tone. "Nothing, nothing, I'm sorry to bother you, nothing's wrong. I've got to get to. . .er. . .Astronomy class, and I don't want to interrupt your next lesson." Hermione rushed past and reached for the doorknob, but flinched as a hand grabbed her shoulder.  
  
"It's lunchtime, and I'm afraid you don't have Astronomy until midnight."  
  
Hermione flushed with embarrassment. She had picked a class off the top of her head. "Well, then, I don't want to keep you from lunch. . .sorry to bother you. . ." she repeated as she shrugged the hand off her shoulder, tears stinging her eyes for the second time today.  
  
Minerva McGonagall bit her lip slightly, watching her student rush off so unlike her usual self. She hesitated slightly before calling out to her. "Miss Granger, please come to my office. I need to speak with you for a moment."  
  
Hermione twisted up her face as if in pain, took a deep breath, and turned on her heel. Stupid, stupid. . .you wouldn't get off skipping class that easily, you twit! Feeling as if her stomach had jumped into her throat, she nodded and followed her Professor down the hall to her classroom.  
  
As she had lagged a few paces behind, the door was held open for her when she entered the office. Hermione stood against the wall in the far corner of the room, examining it. Scrolls and awards graced the walls, but the desk was littered with quills, parchment, and paper clips, so unlike the stern teacher to whom it belonged.  
  
Professor McGonagall slid into her desk, cleared away a stack of papers in front of her, and looked over Hermione. "Well," she spoke quietly. "Sit down."  
  
Hermione bit her lip, edging into the chair across the desk, still clutching her books to her chest. The words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Am I in trouble?"  
  
"No, no. Well, not with me, at least, although I will have a talk with Professor Snape if you will permit me to do so."  
  
Hermione sighed in relief at her good fortune, hardly willing to believe it. McGonagall wasn't mad at her! But. . .then. . .why was she here?  
  
As if reading her thoughts, Professor McGonagall responded. "I. . .well, Parvati had told me-in private, of course, after the lesson, none of your classmates heard-that you had locked yourself up and were in a right state, crying and saying that you wanted to be alone," She looked down to her desk, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "She seemed quite worried about you, and you know, as I'm a teacher, it's only my job to. . ." she trailed off, unable to find the right words. "To make sure you're all right, I suppose."  
  
"Damn," Hermione cursed to herself, hoping it to be inaudible. Parvati! Oh, she would get it back in the common room. . .  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Nothing, Professor, I'm sorry."  
  
"There's no need to apologize. But, point being. . ."  
  
"I'm fine." Hermione's voice was tense against the inward cry of just the opposite.  
  
"Are you sure?" Minerva felt quite stupid repeating the question, as if the girl didn't know how she felt. "Because if I'm so bad of a teacher that my own students can't come to me for help. . ." she trailed off.  
  
"No! No, Professor, not at all, it's not that, I promise!" Hermione jumped in shock at the response, inwardly reprimanding herself for forcing guilt onto a teacher, but deeper down wondering if she really questioned her teaching abilities like that.  
  
McGonagall nodded. "Well, then, my dear, what's wrong?"  
  
Hermione looked down, silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Professor McGonagall didn't care, what was she doing?! As if she'd tell her, anyhow. But. . .who else did she have to tell? And after all, Transfiguration was her best, not to mention favourite class, it wouldn't be as if she were confiding in someone such as Snape.  
  
Hermione giggled slightly at the thought, but the giggle turned quickly into a dry sob, which hastily silenced itself. "I-" Hermione struggled, fighting back the white-hot feeling that longed to slip over her eyes, down her face. "I'm not sure."  
  
"That's quite all right."  
  
"Everyone else. . ." Hermione hesitated. Never before had she told anyone anything of the sort, nothing such as this. "Everyone else has some one to talk to. Everyone else has someone else to lounge about with, to go outside with on weekends, to walk from class to class with. . .heck, to copy homework from. And. . ."  
  
"You don't?"  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
"You feel a constant pressure, from being as smart as you are, from what makes you different. But, even though you know very well that everyone is different, you say to yourself that they have their friends, that they have their confidents, that they have something or know something that you seem to be missing out on?"  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes. . .that's it exactly." Professor McGonagall smiled in a mix of nostalgia and sadness, nodding.  
  
Hermione didn't pay attention, but instead reminded herself-McGonagall didn't care. "But, now you're going to tell me." Anger rose up her throat at this as fire, grazing her tongue. "That it's just because of pre- adolescence or whatever the hell, and everyone's going through the same thing," Her tone was harsh, so harsh that it came as a surprise to herself. She silenced herself immediately and red crept up her face.  
  
McGonagall was slightly taken aback, but did not show it. "I'm not going to lie to you, everyone is a bit," she bit her tongue, searching for the right word. "Insecure, at times, but, as it seems to me, you're case is a little different."  
  
The two sat in silence as the clock ticked on. Hermione's head was turned away, and the professor could not see the tears that adorned it. She spoke again, still not looking up. "I. . .well, I don't want to believe that I'm different, I guess," her voice cracked. "Everyone has problems, as you said, and mine aren't anything special, it's normal, and you don't need to call me in here to talk, because it's normal, and-and-" she flushed, silent sobs wracking her shoulders as they tied knots in her speech.  
  
Professor McGonagall stood next to her student's chair, staring down at Hermione not in pity or repugnance, but in a mix of admiration and remembrance. Oh, what she would have given for someone to lean on so long ago, during her first year at Hogwarts. She locked her jaw, remembering the emotions, the fear and anger, the pride and dignity, but the loneliness throughout. She wasn't going to let another student go as she did, especially one with such talent as Hermione.  
  
"Hermione, come here, and listen," she said. Hermione stood and , her head still bowed, but a small river dripping its way off the tip of her nose. She hesitated slightly, but then wrapped her arms around Hermione in an embrace such as that a mother would give.  
  
Hermione flinched at first, unaccustomed to such a comforting gesture, one she hadn't felt for years. Her tears came harder this time, now in full- fledged sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she began to mutter.  
  
"Hermione, dear, people do care about you, I being one of them, and although I understand that my position is quite different from one of your room mates or fellow students, I am more than sure that if you continue with the talent and wonderful character we have seen from you thus far, you will end up with friends in this school, you hear?" Minerva understood that while this was not as comforting as others might think, Hermione received the message.  
  
Hermione nodded slightly and Professor McGonagall held her at arm's length. She hesitated. 'Just. . .one more question before you're off to lunch. Where were you heading when I caught you?"  
  
Hermione wrenched her eyes shut and looked away. "The. . .er. . .the Astronomy tower," she muttered, barely audible.  
  
Minerva nodded, her fears confirmed. "As I thought. But now. . .?"  
  
Hermione shook her head quickly, her bushy hair bouncing about her shoulders. "No," she said, hoarsely, embarrassed.  
  
"Good. I will report to Professor Snape that you were in the hospital wing for his class period. And now, I daresay, go get yourself cleaned up, the Halloween feast will be starting in a few hours, and as it is your first, you will not want to miss it."  
  
Hermione walked to the door, but paused and before twisting the doorknob. "Thank you, Professor."  
  
McGonagall smiled to herself as the door clicked shut and leaned back in her chair, thoroughly reminded of a vision that danced in the cobwebs of her mind. A young girl with raven-black hair, horn-rimmed glasses askew, stood at the highest point of a castle as wind flew through her hair. Tears had flowed down her face, and although there were minor scars, they were there no longer.  
  
That, however, was another story.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
More Author's Notes: **Deep breath** Whoa, I actually completed a piece! (Who cares if it's a one-shot!) Well? Liked it, hated it, appreciated it? I really hope they weren't out of character, but I've always picture Hermione and McGonagall as sort of insecure, stressed people, and I like to think that they're a lot alike. Reviews would be nice, I like getting constructive crits, but maybe I expect too much.  
  
--Bryte 


End file.
